(Visiting many churches in Ireland, it truly broke my heart to see many graveyards filled with weeds and vines covering all the tombstones so the names of families couldn't be read, and seeing some other tourists take pictures of bones and show a lack of interest to the people who lived with them under their flesh.

This poem kind of came out of tears I had seeing many of God's special places and the holy families who once ran them be neglected. I believe that everyone should have God or whoever their religion tells them to believe in have that holy spirit centered around them, as well as our families. )

Weeds In The Graveyard
By: Noah Eaton
7/23/03

You kneeled before the abbey
Before forgotten kings
Treading upon rakes and weeds in the graveyard
Praying for the gardener
To come and secure their honor
And match your ears with the Savior...

You believed in white magic
Held the pendant in your hand
Spent the years groundskeeping
But denying your heritage and your land
Holding up a sword and shield
Fought the concept of time defensively
While the kudzu vines grew
Finding those memorials you once knew buried...

You put all your blame on God
But you know what you've wrought
You wished for those to rest in peace
When you disturbed them in their sleep...

You kneeled before the abbey
Before forgotten kings
Treading upon rakes and weeds in the graveyard
Praying for the gardener
To come and secure their honor
And match your ears with the Savior...

Here lies the opened doors of the crypt
Anyone is welcome to come in
Go on and touch the fingers
Of the corpses and take pictures if you wish
I dare not look at their bones
Somehow I find that sacrilege
It feels like castrating a dead horse
When all our dead want to do is feel well-rested...

You put all your blame on God
But you know what you've wrought
You wished for those to rest in peace
When you disturbed them in their sleep...

You kneeled before the abbey
Before forgotten kings
Treading upon rakes and weeds in the graveyard
Praying for the gardener
To come and secure their honor
And match your ears with the Savior...
You kneeled before the abbey
Before forgotten kings
Treading upon rakes and weeds in the graveyard
Praying for the gardener
To come and secure their honor
And match your ears with the Savior...

Still I feel the slow burn
Every time I see an empty church
With hands and arms surrendering to universal coupling
And legs sold to menial work
Still there will always be a curate
In charge of every parish
A rector appointed as managerial
And a vicar there to maintain the communion
Every candle shall be lit
Every bell shall be rung
Every priest will have his hands
Consoling and comforting the righteous ones
Every psalm will be read once more
The collection plate will make profit
Our teachers will have something to teach
And preachers something to transmit
And don't forget to baptize yourself
At least one time in your life
It might not be enough
But you've got to hold some light
And for all you know
Soon will come the day of judgement
I believe in it with all my soul
But is anyone willing to pull these wedds?
Who will pull these weeds...

[This message has been edited by Mistletoe Angel (08-09-2003 04:59 PM).]

You CAN make a difference:
http://educate-yourself.org/

Your loving and compassionate heart shines through as always in this.....
How very sad!!!!!
Beautiful writing Noah!!!!
Bridgette

"Somewhere, somehow, it should be possible to touch someone and never let go again.  To hold someone, not for a moment but forever." Unknown

always seeking joy, adventure and romance and wishing you find the same